


Another Origin Story

by alexpeanut



Category: Five Horsemen - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Bond Puns, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Handwavey Almost Sex, Horses, M/M, Multi, Origin Story, SURPRISE NAKED MEN ON COUCH, Sadly, Shower sex that wasn't, Street
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexpeanut/pseuds/alexpeanut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Horsemen started with a hacker, a pile of money and a death wish</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zack Write's Sweet Tooth Is Bound To Get Him In Trouble One Day

**Author's Note:**

> This needed to be posted by itself, imo. It's a constant WIP as new things reveal themselves to me. Rating may get increased based on the amount of swears I work in.

It takes a year to learn him, to get used to the particular coil in his hindquarters when he takes a corner and his habit of learning too hard into a turn, nearly unbalancing his great height. He blows at her when she's taking too long to tack him and steps on her foot until she figures out how to mount without tugging on his face too much. He snaps at her finger once and by the time the nail grows out from black the seasons have spun a half turn and he's spooking at pumpkins, the big baby.

She takes him to Street and he comes in dead last, floundering uncomfortably past the finish line with a broken stirrup and a combination of rotten banana peel, baby diaper and steak leftovers plastered to his chest from a misplaced dumpster. He gains a healthy respect for the barrels and she loses a sense of smell. They don't like each other, and she certainly doesn't trust him, so they take another three months to train and improve. It helps, some, but she still doesn't lean far enough out to counteract his ridiculous cornering and he fights her when her split second decisions don't make sense to his lizard brain.

Like any rational, stubborn human, Kadira gets herself hired at a barn and blows off any and all commitments to get as close to the action as possible.

She doesn't speak of that year.

They debut anew the next fall, Vigor screaming into third place with a chaotic finish, miraculously garbage-free. They take second the next race, then it's a slew of firsts on any Street event that'll take them. She blows insane amounts of money moving them cross-continent and doesn't regret any of it. After being cornered and harassed more than once by dicks with no concept of personal space she ups her game. A whip is practical...ish, and intimidating even if the one she buys is worn through, with a faintly greasy handle. At the cost of innumerable welts on her hands and arm and, in one memorable practice, her cheek, she learns how to wield it like another limb. For all Vigor's fear of squirrels he's perfectly fine with the strip of leather cracking past his face, which makes her swear at him in frustration before patting his neck and feeding him sugar cubes.

Finding the tack shop is more skill than luck. She has to hack almost twenty phones belonging to Street attendees before she finds one with an address in its text logs. Instead of going there directly she shoots off an almost clinical email after a few hours of digging. She's looking for someone to build off her technical sketches and is willing to double the payment for full discretion. She's heard too many stories of sellouts turning the police on anyone who was dumb enough to pay in person. Digital records are easy to wipe but a face-to-face meeting is harder to forget.

Zack Write is professional and prompt, and surprisingly eager to work with her. He tweaks her sketches, offering up suggestions and fixes and when she finally gets the box in the mail and Vigor tacked up she sends him a picture. (Without her face in it. She's been using hoodies and bandannas to hide her identity during the events and while Vigor is always going to be recognizable she'd rather stay in the shadows.)

She takes them out for a test spin and the modifications work just as expected. She dumps an extra two grand in his offshore account as a thank you and digs into the Street circuit with renewed vigor. In six months she's won them a following and a fair amount of attention for their economic grace under pressure. They pick up "Vim and Vigor" as a nickname by accident when a fellow rider overhears her calling her horse Vigor and she likes it enough to seed it in a few key blogs. She keeps going back to Write, sending him sketches and half thought out ideas that he turns into upgrades for their gear. Their emails slowly escalate from professional courtesy to friendly correspondence as time goes on.

She's got a fan club and the high of their wins goes a long way towards filling any holes her mother left in her. Hacking is a gift but winning Street is a skill, something she grew for herself from the ground up. On Vigor she's flying, their heartbeats matched as she bends low over his neck, guiding him with light touches as his withers contract and expand between her knees. The cold night air in her face steals her breath as they steal the purse, rocketing into first place in race after race.

* * *

It's as Dubai approaches that she starts hearing about another racer, a crazy whip of a man on a dark horse that's winning by landslides. Of course she goes digging and while the internet is running rampant with speculation the cell phone she spots in his pocket on some shitty iPhone video of a race start isn't that hard to track. It's not even all that illegal, although the algorithm on the server she piggybacks on is something she whipped up for an anti-terrorist agency and has enough copyrights on it now to just about bury it. What they don't know won't hurt them.

She spends two days hacking through a respectable amount of security and finally manages to tie Blackjack to Mr. Write. It's not as surprising as it should have been, but she does take great pleasure in aligning their schedules so she just happens to stroll in to a Street meet he's at, busy checking over his horse a last time before the race starts. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he spots Vigor, plague-mask-covered face turning towards them. She lights Vigor up, flicking the EL wire coiled along the armor and in his horns on all at once, to approving murmurs from the crowd. Making sure her bandanna is in place she trots them up to the starting line, abreast of Write and his mount.

"Nice tack." His voice is pleasant, amusement curled around his words the same way it does in his emails. A quick side-eye confirms that he's got the same shock of brown hair as his fake Facebook profile suggests, and what she can see under the mask is sharply angular.  
"Bought it from the best." She replies with a smirk that's lost to the cloth over her mouth, eyes straight ahead.  
"I bet you did." His horse shifts under him, snorting curiously at Vigor, who flicks his ears over. He tightens his grip on the reins, momentarily distracted. The Starter walks up, hip cocked and chest on display, holding the flag aloft but Kadira's attention is split between Vigor beneath her and Write to her left.  
As the flag begins to drop, just before the horses explode forward she speaks out just loud enough for his ears, "I can't wait to beat you with your own gear, Mr. Write."  
And they're off, thundering into the first alley, Kadira a split second ahead of Write due to his surprise. It's neck-and-neck the whole route, the riders urging their horses ever faster, uncoiling that last bit of speed necessary in the home stretch and Kadira looses her grip on the reins, letting Vigor surge forward, the other pair nose-to-noseband. It's just the two of them and the straightaway and a photo finish that takes ten minutes of reviewing footage from a dozen different cameras to straighten out into a second place for Vim and Vigor and a first for Blackjack.

Write is laughing as they wheel their horses into a fast walk, posture open and loose in the saddle. "Great show, haven't had anyone that close in a long time. You're excellent at riding." Somehow his leer is so genuine, and so visible even through the mask, that she can't help cracking a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling over the edge of the bandanna.  
"Not bad for a desk-jockey yourself." she banters back, patting Vigor's neck absentmindedly as the horse blows air and tosses his head, still ramped up. "You were right about the saddle balance, he's been taking the corners a lot better."  
"Is that what you call that abysmal turn halfway through? You almost threw out his back and shoved Bond off the track."  
If it were anyone else she'd already be reaching for her whip but he's laughing openly and she's so used to his terrible humor from their emails that she just snorts and tugs Vigor close enough that she can bump him into Write's horse, who sways away from the contact. "Shut up, like I didn't see you run into that trash can."  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to be showering for a week to get this stink off me. You owe me new pants."  
"How you get those off without a pair of scissors is beyond me, really."  
"You could come see."  
Her gaze snaps to him before she laughs and turns away. "Maybe when you don't smell like a trash can. I'll send you those sketches for the leg protectors by Friday."  
"Hey!" He calls after her as she's turning Vigor away, into the darkness of a side street. "Seems a little unfair you know my name when I don't know yours."  
Her laugh echoes back to him. "How does it go... Oh! The name's Bond, James Bond." She turns off Vigor's lighting and they fade into the darkness. "Until next time, Blackjack!"

* * *

They keep running together, trading wins, their competitors full strides behind them. They exchange emails like nothing's changed except that Write finishes each correspondence with increasingly dirty attempts to cajole a name out of her. "I need something to put on the invoice" escalates to "how will I know what to scream in bed?".

She retaliates with increasingly obvious Bond references. His coffee boy returns to the shop one morning holding the tray of drinks and an extra bag of the sweetest doughnuts, apparently pre-paid by "a Miss Moneypenny". Unordered pizza delivery shows up around lunch a few days later with "Can't work on an empty stomach - Mallory" scribbled on the box in sharp handwriting. When Write returns to his house to find a box of six cupcakes from the bakery he always pretends he doesn't know about sitting on his doorstep, with "E N J O Y, M" written on their tops in pink frosting he ups his game. 

Kadira opens his latest email to find just an image inside, a crummy iPhone shot of a piece of paper, on which letters from a newspaper have been clipped and pasted together in true kidnapper style.  
"Your leg wraps are now mine. If you ever want to see them again, come to the shop, alone. Bring your name and nothing else."  
She snickers to herself and takes the greatest of pleasure in breaking in later that night, so close to morning that even hard-working Write has given up the ghost and gone to bed. His security is laughable in her hands and when he opens up the next morning it's to find the leggings gone from their perch on a workbench, a single cupcake left in their place with "Q" written on it in the same sharp handwriting. 

They see each other at the next Street meet two weeks later, and Write maneuvers to be next to her as everyone does last-minute checks on their horses. He tests the buckles on his saddlebags, not looking at her as he talks. "That was a cute trick with the leg wraps."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She appears equally busy running her hands down Vigor's legs to check for heat or swelling, but he catches the glint of a grin in her eyes.

"Sure, sure. Tell me though, what do I have to do for a name?" 

Rather than answer, Kadira turns to give him her full attention, absentmindedly playing with her whip. After a long minute of scrutiny, she answers with a question. "Why do you race?"

"For the thrill." he blurts out honestly, surprised by the question. "Same reason I ride the bikes; It's a rush to finish a race without crashing." She seems to be contemplating it, and the Starter calls for mounting up before she answers. They settle into the saddles beside each other, alert for the start. 

The race itself is the usual blur of supercharged motion, with nothing but the wind and the heaving breaths of Vigor between her thighs. Something about the crisp night invigorates them and they blow past the finish line an unprecedented full length ahead of Blackjack. As the crowd swarms around her she pulls out her phone and sends off a quick text, Write pausing in his own flurry to check his phone as it dings. She can't see much of his face under the mask, but the pleased tilt to his head speaks volumes. 

When the knock comes on the door of her flat an hour later she pushes away from the computer, kicking the door to the small office closed on her way to the front. She opens the door to find Write standing there a bit awkwardly, for once without his mask. She takes in his angular, almost androgynously beautiful features and lets a cocky grin slide onto her own face. 

"I seriously contemplated telling you to call me Goldfinger tonight." She says when it looks like he's about to wear a hole in the carpet the way he's scuffing at it. She steps aside to let him in, unselfconsciously ogling him from behind as he proceeds her down the short hallway into the flat proper. 

He laughs as he goes, a swagger in his step. "Your parents would have had to have been real-"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence, a huff of air leaving his lips instead as she pushes him back against a wall, crowding into his personal space, face inches from his. His surprise melts into a lascivious grin and he shifts a little, thighs falling open to allow her to press closer. She studies him for a heated moment then dips in for a kiss, open mouthed and a little dirty. Whatever she sees when she pulls back makes her grin, predatory. 

"Kadira." He makes a faintly confused face at her, which only makes her smile widen. "What you should be screaming. My name's Kadira."

She makes sure that he wakes the next morning to an empty bed and a bare apartment, personal touches stripped clean in the middle of the night. The only effects left are everything he needs to shower and a cupcake on a plate in the middle of the kitchen counter. Tucked under it is a scrawled note; "Paris 4/18"

* * *

She knows full well he hadn't intended to come to that Street event due to a conflict in his calender, and is surprised despite herself when Bond trots into the square minutes before the race is intended to start. Write walks Bond to stand next to Vigor, speaking quietly so the few onlookers who have recognized their respective teams and stand around trying to snap pictures can't hear. 

"That was a dirty trick you pulled." He sounds a little put out and Kadira's glad the bandanna hides her mouth and the resulting smirk. 

"I had places to be."

"I didn't get a chance to wake you up."

"Like you know how to cook."

"Not what I meant, sweetcheeks." Even behind the mask, Write's innuendo comes across loud and clear. Caught off guard, Kadira can feel her cheeks heating up.

"Focus on the race or I'll kick your ass again, Blackjack."

"Yes ma'am."

They meet up afterwards, falling into his hotel room as the door unlocks. Their clothes drop as they will in a line from the door as she crowds him up onto the bed, but the next morning it's only his things scattered on the carpet, and she's long gone.

* * *

By mid December they're comfortably sharing beds whenever they're in the same town, but by mutual decision it's not an exclusive anything. Zack shares stories from his better hookups, delighting in how possessive Kadira gets in the heat of the moment, knowing she has no problem with it at any other time. 

Because they're not a thing, she hopes her Christmas gift will catch him by surprise. He won't stop talking about the [NCR-M16](http://motorcycles.about.com/od/newbikephotogalleries/ig/NCR-M16-/), and despite her goading won't buy it either. She makes sure the motorcycle is waiting when he comes into City Limits Christmas Eve day for some busy work. She's had it arranged dead center in the floor, gently lit by some of the spotlights in the rafters to get the best effect. She watches the security footage on her tablet, smiling despite herself when he freaks out on seeing it and does a fistbump and victory dance on the spot. He winds down from his excitement enough to check the saddle bags eventually, and she watches as he pulls out a beautiful leather jacket with "City Limits" scrawled elegantly across the shoulders in fine embroidery, and the fingerless leather gloves to match. 

If she happens to be watching from his bed, and is waiting when he gets home, still windblown from the drive, well. Give something, get something. 

He retaliates with a horrendously cliched and incredibly sweet ride in a horse drawn carriage and she will never admit just how nice it is to snuggle under the blanket while drinking hot chocolate, mocking the people they trot past.


	2. Callum Daels Is No Man's Boy-Toy

She gets the job out of the blue, with barely enough time to set things up for Vigor before she's in the wind. She spends the next months literally locked in a room with other tech heads, saving the world one line of code at a time. She's been in the top secret facility for almost three months before they finally subdue the threat, and sunlight on her face for the first time in... Fuck, 19 days? 20? has her blinking blearily as she collapses on a plane home. She's craving real food, a shower longer than ten minutes and her own bed, but finds herself standing blearily at Zack's door instead. It's late and her brain is offline, and so for the first time ever she actually pulls out the key he gave her, rather than picking the lock.

Finding Zack on the couch isn't a surprise, and the sight of him shirtless isn't unusual either. The man whose lap he's occupying is a bit more surprising, but she's too zoned to care. They're so busy making out, hands wandering everywhere, that she's able to shuffle past to the spare bedroom, collapsing face-down on the heavenly mattress and immediately passing out.

She wakes in the late morning to the sound of the shower running. Figuring Zack won't mind the company she strips down, intending to grab a towel once in the bathroom. However, it's not Zack standing under the spray when she pulls the curtain aside. Not even close. The older man yelps when he catches sight of her, blushing profusely as he tries to use the curtain to cover himself. Bemused more than ashamed, Kadira halfheartedly apologizes and backs out, though not before grabbing herself a towel, and goes to find Zack.

"That was a fast sho- Kadira?" Zack yelps, looking up from his sprawl on the couch. "Why are you in a towel? Wait, no, why are you here? Wait, where the fuck have you been?!"

She shrugs in answer. "I sent you an email."

"Yeah, two months ago! Saying 'On a mission - 007' from a dead email. I was worried about you!"

Kadira hiked the towel up from where it had almost slipped off her chest, watching him blandly. "You realize your boytoy probably thinks I'm your girlfriend..."

Zack blinks, then swears fiercely as he hurries towards the bathroom, yelling back for her to 'put some clothes on, for fuck's sake, and not to go anywhere until they had a chance to talk!'.

Just to be ornery she borrows his clothes to get dressed in, more than sick of the same ten shirts she's worn for the last three months. Boxers aren't the most comfortable of things but when in Rome, might as well steal the whole toga. 

She's poking through his fridge, bemoaning the lack of fresh fruits when she hears them enter the kitchen, Zack clearing his throat pointedly. 

"Kadira, meet Cal." She straightens and sizes the stranger up, winking at him when he turns ever-so-slightly pink from the scrutiny. The eye patch is no more strange than some of the other guys she's found in various stages of undress around Zack's apartment so she sticks her hand out without hesitation to shake. 

"Sorry about seeing your bits. Zack forgot to leave a sock on the door." Her smirk only widens at Zack's glare, shaking Cal's hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, have you guys been dating long?"

They both ignore the spluttering from Zack. "We're not dating. And it's...fine." Cal can't quite meet her eyes but his gaze also doesn't stray below her collarbones. "I'm sorry too. About. Yeah." 

She shrugs it off and goes back to rummaging through the fridge. "It's a miracle you don't have scurvy yet, Zack. Where did you guys meet?"

"Street." Zack sounds smug enough to make Kadira peer over the top of the door.

"Are you a fanboy?" She asks Cal doubtfully, making the older man chuckle. 

"He's a racer." Zack interjects. "A damn good one too. He beat me."

"Perish the thought." she says dryly, then swears appreciatively when she finally unearths an apple from the depths of the fridge. "Thank Allah, some actual food." It makes a satisfying crunch when she bits into it, and if she plays up her enjoyment a little too much, well, it's been three months since she had anything but her hands for company.

"Are you a competitor too?" Evidently Zack hasn't told Cal much. The question seems laced with genuine curiosity however. 

"Yes. Not for as long as Zack, but I'm good." It's not pride so much as truth, a fact they all seem content to accept.

Zack's watching her a little too closely as she hops up to perch on the counter, but Cal's moved off to make himself breakfast, apparently at least somewhat comfortable in the kitchen. She makes no effort to lean out of his way when he has to stretch up over her to grab a bowl, leaving her inches from the flex of his chest. She's smiling, ankles neatly crossed, when Cal moves away, putting Zack's glare back in full view. 

"Can I talk to you a minute." he bites out so that it's not even vaguely a question, towing her off the counter and down the hall (regretfully leaving the half-eaten apple behind) and shutting them both in the bedroom. "Look, you can't just...just....leave! With no warning, and no note, and then come waltzing back in here like nothing happened!"

She lets him hiss at her like a disgruntled cat until he's calmed slightly. "Did you miss me?" Her teasing tone doesn't quite hit the mark, coming off just a shade wistful which makes him blink at her a second, anger receding.

"I was worried about you." Zack says, quieter now. "Really worried."

"I can take care of myself." 

"I know, but you do some pretty shady shit sometimes." Unhappy, Zack switches topics. "You're staying for a while?"

"There's not currently another job lined up." Kadira's answer is neutral, seeming vaguely uncomfortable. "But I'm going to return to my loft. You and Cal are clearly... busy here." She avoids Zack's efforts to catch her eyes and leaves abruptly, gathering her few things and ducking out of the apartment without further contact, leaving a confused Zack in her wake. 

Rather than go home, Kadira detours to the private stables she keeps Vigor at when away on business, settling into the small guest room left permanently open for her. Two weeks training and settling into the gentle grind of farm living is exactly what she needs after so much time cooped up indoors. She'd saved the owner from a nasty legal issue three years ago and has been granted a permanent home for her and Vigor, whenever she needs it. The owner is friendly, the farm quiet, and it feels good to get up before dawn every morning and work until the sun goes down, soaking up as much vitamin D as possible. 

She answers Zack's emails promptly enough to keep from worrying him, but doesn't reach out of her own accord. If she checks into Cal's background, baffled by an inadequate history and flimsy legal record, she's careful not to leave any trace of her presence. He's a mystery, and stirs up something uncomfortably close to jealousy. Zack has been her mechanic, her bed-mate, for just a little too long to consider things casual, but she's not one to get attached and does her best to ignore the emotion. Mostly.

* * *

"Cal." He turns to see her leaning against a wall, Vigor nosing at a few scraps of grass that have escaped the cobblestones. She's got one knee high boot propped up against the cement, her hips cocked to settle her weight, running her beaten leather whip through her fingers with slow, habitual movements. Her bandana isn't on yet, the strip of cloth hanging loose around her neck. The rest of the race is further down the road, lights and chatter providing a background hum that almost drowns out the swell of the ocean. It explains her use of his first name, since no one's close enough to overhear.

"Kadira." He awknowledges, halting Spitfire's progress. "Zack didn't tell me you were racing tonight."

She hums noncommittally in answer, pushing off the wall in one sinewy movement. "Must have forgotten." It's blatantly clear she set this up on purpose, knowing Zack was too busy to attend, but neither of them comment on it, holding a silent standoff as Kadira settles the loops of the whip into a notch on Vigor's saddle, gaze barely leaving Cal. "He seems into you." 

Cal grunts in agreement, sitting straight in the saddle, remnants of a soldier under fire clinging to his posture. Her gaze sharpens, hostile and severe, and even though she barely matches Spit's shoulder her intent fills the street. "I do not suppose I have to remind you that he is a good friend of mine." The unspoken 'hurt him and I will hurt you' hangs between them.

"We've talked." He meets her gaze calmly when she holds eye contact for an uncomfortably long time, assessing him. 

The tension finally snaps when she looks away, swinging gracefully up into the saddle. "Good. I look forward to beating you." The words are still aggressive, but her tone has eased somewhat. 

"I look forward to seeing you try." He urges Spitfire to overtake her, reaching the chaos of the party first. 

The crowd parts easily for them, noise dying down as whispers spread of the two competitors, both famous in their own rights yet never seen racing against each other. They reach the starting line with a bare two minutes to perform checks on their respective mounts, so no words are exchanged. 

The starting pistol cracks out the race's start and all eighteen horses lunge forward, Cal and Kadira shoulder-to-shoulder for a half-dozen lengths. If they lose each other at all during the 3.7 miles between the start and finish neither notices it, locked in a tie for first. The barrel Kadira overturns into Cal's path is echoed in the release of an awning that swings to block Vigor, and neither team gains ground until the last half-mile. Vigor falters at a crucial moment, a noseband of space between them lengthening until Spitfire rockets across the finish a full quarter-length in front of Vigor.


	3. Kadira Bitar is Really Bad at Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a horrible cliff hanger I'm sorrryyyy

By mutual, if unspoken, agreement she follows Cal home for dinner. Zack is out at a conference and neither expects him back but the silence between them is only mildly uncomfortable. He cooks while she perches on the counter mostly out of the way, and the only words they exchange are food related. She notices how comfortable he is in Zack's kitchen but says nothing, and in return he doesn't begrudge her the particular mug she picks out of his hands, making him choose one that doesn't have the distinct chip in the handle from when she dropped it years ago.  
It's not until they're sat facing each other at Zack's tiny breakfast nook that Kadira speaks. "Are you illegal? It can't be witness protection, I ran your face through their database."  
The implied show of power does nothing to Cal, whose face remains impassive. "Does it matter?"  
"I'd rather Zack not end up in anything shady. Shadier." she amends at his raised eyebrow. He's paused in his meal but she keeps eating, eyes on him.  
"Because your work doesn't put him at risk?"  
She swallows before answering. "My work stays at work. How do I know yours will too?"  
Cal frowns. "The same way I know yours will. Trust."  
She watches him as he resumes eating, bemused. Nearly five minutes go by with just the sounds of utensils clinking against ceramic. She can feel herself pouting but can't seem to stop the expression.  
Finally they both reach the ends of their plates and Cal stands to take the dishes over to the sink. Kadira intercepts him, taking the silverware out of his hands. "You cooked, I'll wash." The chivalry placates them both and Cal sits again, stretching out his long legs.  
"You don't like me. Is it because of me, or because of Zack?" He has to raise his voice a little to be heard over the water as Kadira starts washing dishes.  
"Both." she replies promptly, her back to him but still aware of his gaze. "I don't know anything about you and Zack isn't the best judge of character."  
"He picked you."  
She can't help the laugh that escapes her and turns to glance incredulously at him. "I'm the biggest security risk the world's ever known and in my spare time I participate in a sport that kills people."  
He smiles slightly, acknowledging her point with a nod. "But you care about him."  
She's silent for too long.  
"All he talked about when you were gone was how worried he was." Cal continues. "At one point he was probably checking his email forty times a day. He cares about you."  
\---- "He cares about _you_." Kadira shoots back, hands too-tight on the dish she's washing, shoulders hunched.  
"People can care about more than one person." Cal's voice is devoid of censure but she still can't look at him, drying the last dish and moving to the coffee machine so she doesn't have to turn around.  
"Will you at least come by tomorrow and talk to him?" He continues finally into the silence. The coffee machine burbles and drips companionably but Kadira's focus is entirely behind her, on the presence sitting so comfortably in Zack's kitchen, in Zack's house, and suddenly she misses him so sorely she can barely breathe. But she stands firm, waiting for her lungs to steady and her eyes to stop burning.  
When she turns around, her face is impassive. "If I have time."  
She doesn't stay for the coffee. Can't, not with Cal sitting there so serenely. He doesn't try and stop her, just hands her her coat at the door and waits until she's down the steps to close it behind her. Her bones weigh her down and she barely makes it home before collapsing in her bed, asleep once her head hits the pillow.

She doesn't visit in the morning, or the day after that, or at any point in the four weeks following. It's too awkward now, feels like she's invading "their" space (and using that expression about anyone except for her and Zack is strange). Zack is not so easily deterred however and their email correspondence picks back up, whether she wanted it to or not. He fills emails with chatter about City Limits and Street, asks for consultations on tech designs and continues to address her in Bond references (Goldfinger is still their favorite although both agree that Q is likely more accurate). She misses him but refuses to cave and visit, pride overruling common sense.

* * *

Street: Glasgow throws a wrench in her plans. Vigor is happy to be back in the racing circuit and recognizes his makeshift stable from last year when they finally arrive on the outskirts of the city, settling in amiably. His good mood rubs off on her and she answers her phone when it rings without checking the caller id.  
"Bitar."  
"Our hotel bailed; cop activity. Can we crash at yours?" Zack's voice echoes down the line without hesitation and her agreement spills out before she can think better of it, rattling off the address.  
"Great! Be there in an hour." He hangs up abruptly, leaving her staring at her phone.  
"Well." She says to Vigor, who nickers at her agreeably, mouth full of hay. "Well."

She places some phone calls and inside of an hour more bedding and hay is on its way, the kitchen staff is preparing a larger dinner and a maid service has been dispatched to air out some of the old house's spare rooms. By the time commotion echoes in the courtyard she's lounging in the sun room tinkering with a laptop, refusing to get up and go look. They find her there half an hour later, the butler showing them into the sunset-colored room. She's barely looked up before Zack is hugging her, awkward due to the angle. He punches her in the shoulder just as quickly, not pulling his weight at all.  
"Ow!"  
"That's for being an idiot! You deserve like thirty punches you...you....stupid hermit!"  
"Hey-!"  
He hugs her again, practically dragging her off the couch to get a better angle. "Stop being an idiot, idiot."  
She looks over his shoulder at Cal who's standing awkwardly in the doorway and he meets her baffled expression with a slight smirk. "He's been working up to that for the better part of an hour." He tells her, making Zack's arms tighten around her.  
She's overwhelmed and honestly having a bit of trouble breathing. "Zack. Zack! Let go, I can't breathe."  
He lets go slowly, stubborn, and now he's staring straight at her and wow this is worse.  
"You are never ever allowed to do that again."  
She opens her mouth to answer and he talks straight over her. "Nope, now you're stuck with us for two whole days and we're all going to have to deal with it."  
She frowns at him but his stubborn face is a thousand times better than hers and she caves quickly. "William can show you to your room."  
"Will you run away if we leave the room?" Zack asks shrewdly.  
"No!" Kadira snaps, adding, "I can't move the laptop right now anyway, I'd end up losing parts."  
He stares at her a minute longer, finally bumping shoulders with her before standing. "Fine. You'd better be at dinner or I swear I will come hunt you down with a shotgun, Goldfinger."  
Cal snorts, then startles as the butler appears behind him. Kadira knows full well how sneaky William can be when he's in full-staff mode and the reminder scores a small smile, which she hides in her work until they've left the room.

Dinner is...awkward. Zack is clearly still mad at her and makes no move to hide it. Cal is a silent watcher, rarely joining into the stilted conversation and the longer Kadira sits at the table the more she longs for the silent simplicity of her computers.  
It's almost a relief when her phone rings and the screen displays a caller she can't ignore. "I have to take this." She says, standing and walking (not running) from the room.  
Three phone calls and one very angry Skype chat later she's nursing a grudge and has no compunctions about taking it out on the group she's addressing.  
"Unacceptable." Kadira stands with her back ramrod-straight, facing the laptop open on the desk. On-screen several people sit around a table, dressed in business-casual for the conference call. "I made my position exceptionally clear, and you have violated the terms of our agreement."  
"Kadira-" One of them starts, but she cuts them off with a snappish 'Miss Bitar', that he grudgingly echoes. "Miss Bitar, this was nothing more than a clerical error. We're no more at fault than you."  
"This clerical error has cost me over half a billion dollars, two important trade deals and nearly started a cyber war. I will be reimbursed." It was not a question, and the on-screen speaker squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.  
"I'm afraid-"  
"No, I am afraid this is not open to negotiation. I will be extracting my money from your accounts with or without your permission, and I will see anyone involved in this deal fired without delay. Good day." She snaps the laptop shut with precise movements, still riding high on anger and the stress of dinner. A few clipped lines of text entered into the main computer to her left serves to further tighten her shoulders, until she's practically snarling when she turns.  
Suddenly aware of Zack standing in the doorway and watching her she scowls. "Never trust your money in the hands of bureaucrats." With that scintillating bit of wisdom she stalks past him down the hallway.  
He catches her arm as she passes and acting completely on instinct and temper she punches him square in the jaw,  
The noise he lets out is one of a wounded animal and he abruptly lets go of her, stumbling back against the wall. They stare at each other for a long minute, Kadira's mouth moving with unvoiced apologies, but before she can figure out what to say he's gone.

* * *

She's....still angry. At herself, mostly, but also at Zack and just generally the entire world. Having a drink seems like a logical way to calm down, but she's always been bad at rationing alcohol and her mood only clouds the responsible drinking line further. At three drinks Computers! seems like the logical way to go and she downs the rest of the bottle over bits and pieces of code, eventually passing out in the middle of her office / workstation.  
If the resulting hangover provides a convenient excuse for the sick feeling in her stomach no one's around to call her on it. William makes disapproving faces when she stumbles into the kitchen but he also hands her a glass of water and painkillers and has a greasy breakfast on call, so she can't fault him for it.  
"Mr. Write has gone into town for the day. He's left word that he won't be back until dusk. Mr. Daels is currently out for a run. I hazard a guess that you have about an hour before anyone goes looking for you." She stares blearily at him from over her eggs, and he continues mildly, "Might I suggest a shower, and perhaps a change of clothes. I've had the office cleaned already."  
Apparently her blank stare is enough of an answer for him as he fades out of the room (she still can't understand how he manages to move so silently, and the headache certainly isn't helping), leaving her to her food.  
The shower helps some with the gross feeling, but the guilt in her stomach won't be budged so easily. She avoids Cal when he returns from his run, feigning business until it's late enough in the afternoon that she can get away with preparing for Street and at that point they're all back but too busy to talk to each other. Zack is standing less than ten feet away tacking up Bond and she still can't make eye contact. Every time she catches sight of Cal casually working with Spitfire over Vigor's shoulder the sinking feeling intensifies until it feels like her hangover never left.  
She's almost worked up the courage to speak when the trailers arrive, and they take separate cars to get to the starting point and then it's all crowds and show and being in-character and preparing for the race and at this point she knows she's stalling the inevitable fall-out but she's just not ready for it yet.

* * *

The race is bad. Really bad. A horse falters at the start and the take-off is uneven, leading to a staggered race that she's having trouble focusing on. The narrow streets are dark and cold, Vigor's hooves kicking up sparks as they struggle around corners.  
Spitfire's ahead of her and Bond somewhere to her right when the sound of sirens splits the air. Someone's tipped off the police, and the race dissolves into chaos as everyone scatters in a panic. She can feel the blood pounding in her hands where they're gripped so tightly in the reins that her circulation is cut off. Vigor's breaths heave under her thighs as they flee before the cop cars. Kadira's not afraid of the cops, exactly, but being caught is still the least favorable of the outcomes. Street is still illegal. They're going to be fined, she's going to have to spend half a day wiping her records. Again.  
She realizes she doesn't know the area as well as she should when their headlong bolt leads them straight into a dead end. Zack is swearing behind her as she pulls Vigor into a wheeling turn, trying to leave the alley before -  
But of course it's too late, and the police cars slide to a stop at the mouth of the alley, blocking them. 

She and Zack are shoved into the back of one of the cars, both pretending not to know the other. Kadira yells a lot when one of the officers goes to grab Vigor's reins but it just results in them handcuffing her and walking off with the horse anyway. She knows from experience he'll be taken care of but it's still difficult to see anyone else handle him.  
She can't tell what Zack is thinking on the drive back to the police station, but his face is shuttered and angry looking. Along with the check-in procedures their phones are seized and she can't even check to see if Cal got got too. She doesn't see him in the dozen Street participants dropped off in the holding cell over the next hour, but that doesn't mean much.  
Kadira's claimed the bench in the corner and even with her hands still handcuffed together she makes a point to spread out, radiating a don't-fuck-with-me vibe. William will no doubt hear about the arrests shortly and come bail them out, so it's only a matter of waiting. Zack is sitting across from her, and he keeps looking at her, gaze unreadable. Each time she meets his eyes breifly before her gaze skitters away again to flick around the cell. She thinks about an hour passes in uncomfortable silence, listening as others in the cell complain and yell and trade stories (and blows, but the offenders are quickly removed).  
Her skin feels like ants are crawling all over her and the handcuffs are starting to chafe when one of the officers calls into the cell. "Bitar and Write? You've made bail."  
She beats Zack to the door, rubbing her wrists once they remove the handcuffs and accepting her phone and personal effects back with head held high. Surprisingly it's Cal waiting for them at the front desk, not William. She tries not to take it personally when Cal's eyes skim over her only briefly before flicking to check on Zack.  
"I'd like my horse back now." she informs the officer at the desk and his mouth twists down but he nods to a lackey to lead them to the parking garage where Bond and Vigor have been tethered along with the other seized horses. She tunes out Cal and Zack talking, checking Vigor over for injury or signs of rough handling. He nudges at her clothes looking for treats and she pats him on the neck, inhaling his homey scent for courage before finally making eye contact with Cal. "You brought a trailer?"  
"The doublewide." he confirms, nodding towards where it's parked, and she loads Vigor quickly, slipping into the cab while Zack futzes with Bond.  
Cal is driving, leaving Zack the passenger seat while she fumes in the back. The silence is long past uncomfortable and even Cal makes no move to break it. By the time the manor looms out of the dark she's about ready to scream, just to provoke a reaction.  
She gets three steps outside of the car when something breaks. Kadira swings around, leveling a finger at Zack where he stands half-in and half-out of the door, a deer in the headlights. "This is entirely your fault!"  
He blinks, brow drawing down into anger as he exits the car. "What is, your emotional constipation or us spending half the night in a jail cell?" Their voices rise as they argue, making the horses shift uneasily in the trailer.  
"Emotional-! You're the one that went and made this a thing!" Kadira shouts. "It was supposed to just be a fuckbuddy thing!"  
Zack gapes at her, waving off Cal when he looks like he might step in. "That's all this is to you? Fuckbuddies?"  
She can feel her face heating up with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I-"  
"And I suppose you pay for shit for me because that's what you do with a whore, huh?" Zack looks no better than she feels, hurt splashed across his face. "Do you just put up with the talking because I'm good enough in bed to make it worth it? Is that why you're mad, because someone's moving in on your easy lay?"  
"I- No-" She can feel the last bits of control slipping through her fingers and doesn't know what to do to get them back. Some dark part of her brain is cataloging his face, matching it frame-by-frame to memories of her mother yelling at her, at her father; angry, meaningless words wielded like weapons of war until they hurt worse than the physical scars ever did. She doesn't know how to fix this, just like she couldn't fix it then.  
She doesn't realize she's crying.  
He regrets his words, she can see it in his face, but the anger's carried both of them too far to just apologize.  
"For fuck's sake." Cal swearing startles both of them and they turn to look at where he's standing beside the car, posture stiff. "Kadira, get your head out of your ass and tell him you care about him. And Zack, stop being a fucking idiot. It's late, I'm tired, and I'm going to bed." He levels a stare at both of them. "If you two haven't figured this out by breakfast I will literally shut you in a closet together." He stalks off towards the house, profile dark against the exterior lights, and they both watch him go in stunned silence.  
Now that the shouting's stopped the staff have moved in to unload the horses, leaving Zack and Kadira standing uncomfortably in the dark.  
"Hey." He says quietly, slowly reaching to touch her arm. She should shake him off, wipe the tears away and move on, but Cal's words compel her to stay.  
"I-" Her resolve wavers, but he waits for the thought to form, watching her. "I miss you." It's a fraction of the admission she ought to make but even those small words are hard to say. A weakness.  
"Cal..."  
"Cal's not serious, Kadira." Zack ducks his head a little to peer into her eyes, expression still pinched, but less angry. "I mean, he can't be, but he's also not a replacement. I miss you too."  
She envies how easily he says the words as she finally reaches up to wipe tear tracks from her cheeks.

* * *

They stumble inside minutes later, both shivering in the late-night chill. Kadira heads straight for her rooms but Zack stops her with a light touch to her shoulder. Confused, she nevertheless lets him lead the way towards the end of the house the guestrooms are in. William, ever prepared, has already been by and started a bath and Kadira hesitates in the doorway, glancing towards the bedroom.  
"C'mon." Zack urges gently. They strip in near silence and it's weird and yet not even slightly strange when he bullies her into the water first and then sits stubbornly in front of her, settling with his back to her front. They'd done this plenty of times before, when they were wet or cold or just missing human contact, and she finds herself running her fingers absently through his hair as he relaxes against her.  
It's easier to talk to his hair than his face. "I'm sorry." she whispers, just audible. "I'm kind of an idiot."  
He snorts and splashes around a bit, stretching up into the curl of her fingers in his hair. "You can say that again."  
She does. "Sorry. I-. I was confused."  
"About?"  
"You. Us. Cal." She waves expansively, hoping the gesture can communicate what words can't. He seems to get the gist of it and shifts suddenly in her arms, twisting up onto his knees so that he can kiss her. It's sweet and familiar, home, her mind whispers and she pushes the thought away, easing back to just breathe in the shared space.  
"Cal's right next door." she says, halfhearted at best, and he smiles and shrugs before standing, deliberately shaking water off at her.  
"I told you, it's okay." Zack grabs a towel, patting himself dry, but noticing she has yet to move his face turns serious. "We're okay, okay?"  
What else is she supposed to say? "Okay." She stands and lets him hand her a towel (left to warm by the heater, William is worth every penny). At the bathroom door she kisses him on the cheek and turns for her own room. "Night, Zack."  
"Night!"


	4. Three ways are surprisingly difficult to negotiate

Cal's eating breakfast when she walks into the dining room the next morning, Zack nowhere to be seen. She settles cautiously across from him, grabbing a plate and picking at her food.  
"So Zack's been mentioning threesomes. I can only presume he means you."  
The comment is well timed and she chokes on her orange juice, barely keeping from spitting it across the table. Cal looks amused, setting the newspaper aside as she calms herself.   
"That was rude." Kadira says finally, when she can breath again.   
He shrugs. "Payback for listening to Zack gripe for weeks."  
"He does like to gripe."  
Silence falls, uncomfortably loud, and she ducks her head to continue picking at her food. And that's it for the conversation. Cal bows out shortly, leaving his words echoing around her head.

* * *

They continue to echo throughout the morning as she carefully checks Vigor over for damage, physically or psycological, that the police might have left. By the time lunch rolls around she's resigned herself to eating while on the move, pacing around the sunroom with careful steps so as not to crush any of the electronics spread about.

* * *

Mid-afternoon she's frowning down at the partially reassembled remains of one of her many laptops and only transferes the annoyed expression to the form that leans into the doorway. It turns out to be Zack, who is well past being put out by her expression.   
"Cal told me about breakfast."  
Her scowl only deepens, and he can't seem to help a fond smile. "I knew you'd be freaking out about it. We're heading back into Bristol tomorrow, are you going home any time soon?"  
She glares at him for a very long minute before abruptly deciding it's not worth being mad about. "Next week. I have a gala."   
He grimaces in sympathy, his whole body leaning away from her in memory of the last time she went with Zack as her plus one. It had been a less than successful endeavor. "Do you...do you have a date?"  
"No." She stares at him thoughtfully, finally cracking a smile when his discomfort gets too noticeable to ignore. "Don't worry, I won't make you go. Never again, actually. I think you're still banned."   
Zack lets out a quiet sigh of relief, then brightens. "You should ask Cal! He looks great in a military uniform."   
"What? No."  
"He'd be great arm candy! And he's really good at standing still and looking interested."

* * *

The limo pulls up to his curb at 8:15 sharp and Kadira starts speaking before Cal is fully inside. "I'm glad you're so tall, I hated going in flats last year and having every general and CEO tower over me." This of course draws attention to her 4-inch heels, which somehow makes her long legs even more impressive where they disappear beneath the high slit in her floor-length white-gold evening gown. A perfectly manicured brow rose as she took in Cal's attire. "Zack was right, you look good in uniform."   
Cal is still a bit caught up in her outfit, so different from her usual casual affair. She continues, "If it was my choice I would have shown up in sweatpants, but it's frowned upon."   
This makes him smile and finally look away. "You look very nice as well."  
"Flattery will get you everywhere."   
They sit in companionable silence, Kadira tapping away at her phone before decisively locking the screen and holding it out to Cal. "I have no pockets, and there's nowhere else to put it that won't raise suspicion when it starts vibrating." At his blank look she waves it more insistently at him. "You have at least ten pockets that will hold it for the night. One of them has to be empty."  
Bemused, he takes the phone. "What exactly have I agreed to here?"  
Kadira leans back in her seat, glancing out the window as the night slides by. "Two hours at a charity fundraiser. They fund programs to teach girls to code. I made the mistake of donating once and now they insist I come to every gala." Despite her words the twist of her lips is fond. "You're here as a conversation starter. You'll also have to fetch me non-alcoholic beverages no matter how much I beg, and stop me from breaking the wrist of any octogenarian that tries to touch my ass. Two hours of hell, a lot of gladhanding, not nearly enough alcohol, and then we can go our separate ways and forget tonight happened."  
"Fun." He says dryly, to which she only sighs.


End file.
